The last ONCE of Winter (the last meal for me?)

When I started cancer treatment, I knew I might reach a point at which eating would be at best unpleasant and at worst impossible. Once treatment is over, there will still be a chunk of time before my tastebuds returned (and some tastes may change completely).

Result: I have to assume that any really good meal could be my last, and therefore all opportunities for really good meals should be pounced upon and devoured.

Which is how I ended up claiming (in pathetic tones), "This might be the last chance I have to eat well" at the Bloc 11 pop-up, Journeyman and Craigie on Main. And then going out and eating, happily, elsewhere.

Okay, but this time I'm serious. I just finished seven of 35 radiation treatments, and already feel sore-throated and dry-mouthed. And it's going to get worse before it gets better.

So I was delighted that I was still in good shape for The Last ONCE of Winter, another of JJ Gonson's wild rides into local, seasonal dining. This ten-course extravaganza was slated to include some of the dishes featured at Valhalla, which I missed.

(Read about previous adventures with Cuisine en Locale's One Night Culinary Events.)

We trudged through a late (and quite unnecessary) snow shower and arrived to a table of glistening oysters. Which I can't eat right now — boo!

But they were being shucked by the lovely Trevor, who first introduced me to JJ and also to the fab Five Corners Kitchen in Marblehead — yaay!



As usual, the menu for the evening was upon the blackboard with extra notes. Don't worry if you can't read it; I'll walk you through.



First up, some lovely lamb from Stillman's Farm, with sweet roasted beets and a yogurt sauce (the note says, "It's a sheep/goat's milk mix! It's so good and you can get it in Belmont!").



Next, mussels in a bourride broth of garlic, tomatoes, wine and beer. I wasn't sure whether I should eat the mussels, given my allegedly compromised immune system. But they smelled so frickin' good that I couldn't just let them sit there.



From bourride we moved on to bunny, braised in tomatillos, fall-apart tender, and combined with Baer's beans. If dried beans are better than canned, Baer's are better dried beans than most dried beans. This was a perfect winter dish.



And then: ribs! Juicy Stillman's pork, marinated in apple cider, served with purple potatoes. Take a moment to admire the fat.



And take another moment to admire some of the chefs working on the ribs.



Next: porridge, cheese and onion flavor. For realsies. This was apparently a big hit at Valhalla. It's hard to describe, so I'll let the Lovely Locavore Ladies take care of the details.



And then a lovely piece of beef brisket with pureed root veggies (heavy on sweet parsnips) and pickled beets that carried a hint of fennel.



Next up, fishcakes. I'm not entirely sure why the menu ran this way — from oysters to lamb to beef to fish, rather than starting light and ending rich and heavy — but after so much big meat, the fish worked well. On top of which, I'm a sucker for fishcakes.



These came with young greens and flowers from NorthStar Farm in Westport that had been picked and driven into Somerville, through the snow, just for us to eat.



By this time, eight courses in, we were all flagging. The room was warm (how warm? I had to take off my hair) and the hour was late. And yet somehow, JJ managed to get us to take a (belated) seventh-inning stretch. I'm disappointed that my camera failed me for once, as I was sure I'd captured video of 40-some people singing "Sweet Caroline" while JJ danced wildly in the kitchen.

You'll just have to take my word for it.

Next came a sorbet to cleanse the palate, featuring last year's peaches. There was a little too much Pernod (or some other anis liqueur) for my taste; I'd have preferred to get a clearer promise of summer flavor. But perhaps that was the point. We're still too far from peach season. For now we just get a cloudy hint of what's to come.



And finally, a lovely selection of cheeses. Before:



After (or perhaps, before demolition):



By this point I was fading, so remember only that there was Bayley Hazen Blue from Jasper Hill, plus a fabulous, nutty 10-year-old Gouda, and some others whose names I don't recall but made me think of Yma Dream.

The next day, when I went for my radiation treatment, the technician asked, "How's your appetite? Any loss of tastebuds?"

I just smiled.

Huge thanks to JJ and her pirate crew!



And congrats to Janna for attending her tenth ONCE!

Back to Hell ONCE more

If you had descended into the underworld, and come face to face with demons writhing in lust, shaking with wrath, howling in violence, would you go back?

How about if the food was really good?

And thus we found ourselves once again traveling through Dante's nine circles at a re-staging of last year's ONCE in Hell, with players from the A.R.T. providing the theatrics and — more importantly — JJ Gonson and the Cuisine En Locale pirates in the kitchen.

Many of the elements, both food and performance-wise, were close to last year's production, with a few small tweaks and, in some cases, major redesigns.

The space used the same layout, with one big improvement: where last year the food prep happened in a separate space away from the action, this time the kitchen was tucked along the back wall.



It seems like a cramped area from which to feed more than 100 people, but JJ does amazing things from the teeny kitchen at the regular ONCE dining space. It was nice to be able to watch her crew work.

Meanwhile, Virgil moved from table to table, warning us to prepare for the journey ahead.



Last year's limbo was bread and water and zombie-like waiters; this year, the servers were stuck in an endless repeating loop of fake cheer, while a singer gave us "The Girl from Ipanema" over and over and over ...



And then we started our descent. First floor: Lust, again an oyster shooter in a sharp apple mignonette. Lucifer stopped by to get us in the mood.



Next up, Gluttony. As with last year, it was beans (scented with allspice, perhaps?) plus juicy two-hander ribs, and also chicken feet.



This was all served in paper bowls, which at first seemed wasteful. But after encouraging us to take second helpings of everything, the server-demons brought out a trash cart and started throwing plates, beans, ribs and anything else into it.

Meanwhile, Lucifer was introducing Cerberus. But where was the beast?

Oh. Inside the trash cart. Joyously smearing itself in beans and glitter.



Once the last of the beans had been cleaned up, we continued the descent to Avarice. As with last year's ONCE in Hell, the game show was Squander or Hoard?

This year's dish was simple and perfect.



Fresh corn polenta, full of end-of-summer flavor, and apple sauce, rich pink in color, sweet and refreshing. It's the dish that stands out most, and the one I keep thinking back to.

Next up: Wrath. The angry salad was this year enhanced with freshly sprouted mung beans:



And this was one of the few places where the theatrical component didn't quite work.

Last year's Wrath saw the demons whipped up in an unrestrained fury; this year, we listened to The Smiths' "Last Night I Dreamt that Somebody Loved Me" while Lucifer slouched and sighed and complained about being misunderstood.

This wasn't Wrath. It was Mope.

Though maybe that's more frightening.

And then we reached Heresy. Last year that meant raunchy nuns; this year, Lucifer, as the leader of a religious cult, decided it was time for us to shuffle off this mortal coil and handed out poison.



(Okay, it was actually a light lobster salad with puff pastry coffins. Though as The Boy has a seafood allergy, it was pretty realistic for him.)

Lucifer kept encouraging us to eat. "There are no convulsions with this one." And then the waitstaff all died.

Most of them recovered quickly, except for one girl who stayed down for a long time, unmoving.

But somehow, more disturbing was the behavior of some diners who started taking photos with her: Hey, look! I'm with a dead body!

Yeah, I know it wasn't real. But it still felt inappropriate and, well, rude.

It got my gander up just in time for Violence. Hooray! I was hoping for a repeat of last year: the lovely Jen's refreshing and pure beet soup and the eerie, terrifying demon's song.

The soup we got, and it was just what I'd wished for.

And the performance was good — a haunting acoustic rendition of Sufjan Stevens' "John Wayne Gacy, Jr" while a shackled demon in clown make-up juggled beets, dripping red juice on the floor.

It should have been a beautiful moment. But for me, it was marred by the fact that half the audience believed it was a comedy piece. Whether they weren't listening to the lyrics, or weren't making the connection, I can't say. But they laughed. They thought it was funny.

Maybe theirs are the houses to stay away from.

Next was Fraud, which began with a TV chat show-style interview that graphically described how foie gras is made (somewhat lecture-y, I thought) and ended with faux gras, whose provenance we could not guess. Potato? Cream cheese?

JJ, a little help here?

And then we reached Treachery. As with last year's ONCE in Hell, this course centered on the evils of corporate junk food. Which meant — oh yay! — we got the most annoying song in the world again.

The menu listed the dish for Treachery as "chicken hand pie." Chicken-hand pie? Hardly likely. Chicken hand-pie? Well, almost:



CHICKEN-HAND-PIE!

The small but perfectly formed pasty (as my people call it) came in a bag with a disturbing Mad Libs game; you can see that, and the entire menu, over at the Lovely Locavore Ladies blog.

And then an angel appeared.



And we all went to heaven.



And lo, there was pumpkin cheesecake.

Getting lucky at ONCE in the New Year

Last night was another in JJ Gonson's series of fabulous, multi-course, locally sourced dinner parties (following the feast of innards and bugs and the journey through Hell).

This time, the theme was more forgiving to the faint-hearted: foods traditionally considered to bring you luck.

It was such a bitterly cold night that we felt lucky enough just to be indoors, at a table with friends and a bottle of wine.

And then the food came out.

First, potato latkes (all ingredients grown locally) with fresh apple sauce and sour cream.



Next, an amazing vegan soup, surprisingly deep and complex, made with eight kinds of beans (I'm going to stop saying "grown locally" after this, because it applies to pretty much every dish, but wanted to mention that there was a distinctly fresher flavor and creamier texture to these beans, harvested and dried just last summer.)



Then came oysters Rockefeller, loaded with spinach and cheese. If I'd eaten nothing else all night, I'd have been delighted.



Then a change of pace: beets with simple greens. The beets had a light, subtle vinaigrette that brought out their flavor beautifully.



Next up: peas and greens, the traditional southern New Year's dish. Of course, nothing is done halfway at JJ's dinners, so this dish started with slow-cooked pork as the base in which the black-eyes peas and fresh greens were braised.



Then came haddock en papillote, the paper parcels containing a perfect piece of fish with garlic, onions and cilantro in a light and lovely sake-lemongrass reduction.



And then a not-quite local palate-cleanser: small-grove grapefruit from Florida. It tasted like summer.



Next, lightly pickled cucumber, which we started happily eating until we realized it was supposed to accompany the dumplings that arrived a few minutes later. I should have taken a photo of the dumpling filling — a bright combo of crunchy shredded vegetables — but by the time I thought about it, they were gone.



For the final entrée, we had freshly made noodles (representing long life in Chinese culture) topped with a ragu of slloooooow-cooked short ribs and sauerkraut, a traditional German New Year's dish.



And then it was time for dessert. First came the fabulous combination of ginger-honey ice cream with benne wafers: brown sugar-and-butter cookies made with toasted sesame seeds. They were thin, slightly chewy, and completely addictive. (And Jenn, who made them, brought us a few extra at the end. Yay!)



For the final dish — a rich, buttery galette des rois — we were provided with candles, which we lit and stuck in our slices of cake.



And everyone, together, blew out their candles and made a wish for the New Year.

My wish? More fabulous food ...

We went to Hell, and it was delicious

I was going to start with something clever.

So our friend Dante needed help locating his girlfriend ...

So we always said we wanted to spend winter somewhere warmer ...

But really, it's this: JJ Gonson, the creative culinary genius behind our amazing Halloween feast, was staging Dante's Inferno in ten courses, with help from people at the ART's Donkey Show (which is exactly how Shakespeare would have done A Midsummer Night's Dream if he'd known about disco balls).

How could we not go?

The Donkey Show's dancefloor was fitted out with round, eight-seater tables, and we were assigned seats at one. We chatted with our new dining companions, drank a little water, nibbled on bread rolls. And then we looked at the evening's menu and realized: We were in Limbo.

In which case, Limbo is not such a bad place to be. Our fellow diners included a music teacher, two (count 'em!) recording studio owners, and an artist who makes very cool plates. And on top of that, the bread was from Clear Flour.



And then the room darkened and a spotlight fell on our MC for the evening.



He explained that we were entering the second circle of Hell: Lust. And suddenly a couple dressed in black began to dance a passionate tango, while our waitstaff, roses clenched between their teeth, hissed and moaned and served the next course.

Some people think of Lust as deep decadence: chocolate fudge cake, or butter-drenched steak. But this dish defined Lust for me: a fresh Duxbury oyster in a shot glass with a green apple mignonette, the soft texture and earthy, briny taste of the oyster dancing its own tango with the sharp, bright taste of the apple.



We were just starting to understand how integral the waitstaff were to the show. Throughout the night, they changed outfits and personas, becoming demons in each subsequent level of Hell.

(Note to self: Hell has some adorable personnel.)

As we descended to Gluttony, the MC brought out Cerberus, the three-headed dog, for "an eating contest ... with himself!"



While Cerberus bayed and snarled over an enormous bowl of beans, our suddenly sullen waitstaff started slopping our own portions into plastic(!) bowls, topping the beans with a pork rib, and handing out oversized utensils.



The beans were sweet and lovely and exactly what beans should be. The pork was finished with an apple cider glaze. It was the perfect dish for Gluttony, because I could have eaten nothing else for the rest of the night.

But we were moving to the next circle: Avarice. The MC hosted a game show called "Hoard or Squander?" and the waitstaff became his lovely assistants.



One of the guys from our table was pulled onstage to play; he managed to squander away a Ferrari, was cheated out of eternal happiness, and ended up with a bowl of mud.

But the food made up for it: a fantastic flan, made with turnip — yes, turnip — and maple syrup, and served with a Taza chocolate sauce and a side of celeriac mash. The textures and flavors were surprising and unusual and went together perfectly: hoarding with the subtleness of the celeriac, squandering with bold, rich sweetness.



And then things started to get ugly.

See, the wait-demons, now wearing grunge flannel, were rocking out to Chris De Burgh's "Don't Pay the Ferryman", which seemed appropriate — when the song screeched to halt and was replaced by this abomination.

Ohh, the demons were mad. Wrathful, even. Wailing in anger, they slammed down sturdy mugs of kale salad in front of each diner.



Their wrath was our gain, though; the slightly bitter kale was fantastic, and perfectly balanced with the "grapes of wrath" dressing, which was light and sweet. The Boy thought this was the best dish of the evening.



Next up: Heresy, illustrated theatrically by three thigh-high-boot-clad nuns performing a bump-and-grind routine, and culinarily by a lovely lobster salad, sandwiched between puff pastry, and finished with a sauce of pumpkin and chili.



I confess that I didn't understand what was heretical about this combination. But I also didn't care.

By the way, check out the cool purple shadow on the above shot. As with any good theatrical performance, lighting was an integral part of this experience. Some courses had bright white lights; for others, the room was appropriately dark, or bathed in red. It made photography a challenge, but greatly enhanced the atmosphere.

And then ... Violence.

Imagine this beautiful but terrifying song, being lip-synched by this crazed creature, who is crushing beets and smearing the scarlet flesh all over his body:



And then the demons serve blood-red goblets of fresh sauerkraut, topped off with chilled beet juice, using Gustav Doré's illustration of the Violent, tortured in the Rain of Fire as placemats.



Well, that was certainly a palate-cleanser.

Time for a little levity, in the shape of Fraud. This was my favorite: the demon-staff, sporting ridiculous fake mustaches and equally fake French accents, announced the arrival of the next course: beef Wellington. An oversized carving knife was brandished; a silver serving-dish was brought out in triumph; and with cries of "le beeef Wellingtohn! Ahhh, le beeeef Wellingtohn," the demons presented us with ...



Tofu Wellington.

Mind you, it was lovely: the (local) tofu was creamy, the mushroom gravy was rich and deep, and the sprouts and turnip and potatoes were delicious. And every now and then, a demon would lean over and ask, "'Ow eez the beeef Wellingtohn, madame?"

And then we reached the final circle of Hell: Treason. I suspect Dante had his own reasons for finding this the most sinful sin of all.

JJ Gonson is known for being passionate about locally sourced produce, organic ingredients, the Slow Food movement and sustainability. So it's not surprising that for her, treachery = junky fast food.

The dish at level nine was Beelzebub's Beelzeburger. Of course, the bun was fresh and the beef was fantastic, juicy and perfectly seasoned. And it came in a bag bearing a quote from Sally Fallon.



While we ate, our demons danced themselves crazy to an awful, awful song. DO NOT CLICK THIS LINK. Just don't.

Oh yeah, and then Satan appeared.






And as we beheld this spectacle, our mouths full of bread and meat, JJ's husband began to play heavenly sitar while an acrobatic angel indicated the way of our ascent.



And then we had dessert.



A light, fluffy meringue on a pool of crème anglaise, finished with a dollop of intensely fruity, memories-of-summer preserves.

We emerged dazed, and not just because we'd eaten so much. The entire event — the food, the detail of the presentation, the theatrical interludes, the perfect pitch of the in-character waitstaff — everything came together seamlessly and gracefully for an unforgettable night.

I can't imagine how much work went into making it happen. And I hope I get to experience something like it again.